


Open or Closed?

by dragonQuill907



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Teenlock, Truth or Dare, Uni!lock, ballet!lock, hoopford, mystrade, rugby!john, they're all bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonQuill907/pseuds/dragonQuill907
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which they're all in uni, Irene's having a party, and they decide to play truth or dare<br/>“Have you fancied anyone, and, if so, how many people?”<br/>“Yes,” Sherlock replied. “Two.”<br/>“Must’ve been smart girls, then, to get you interested,” John said bitterly.<br/>“I- Um, I don’t-”<br/>Irene laughed. “Oh, please. Sherlock’s afraid of vaginas.”<br/>“Well, that’s a stunning way to come out if I’ve ever heard one,” Sherlock muttered. “And there you have it, gentlemen. You are in the presence of a raging homosexual.”<br/>“Two!” Irene put in. “Count me as a raging homosexual too.”<br/>Sherlock chuckled. “Yes, two raging homosexuals.”<br/>“Oh, are we using adjectives now?” Greg asked excitedly. “I’d say I’m a zesty bisexual. Or maybe… maybe amiable. Either way.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open or Closed?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was loosely inspired by my friend's story of how they ended up with their girlfriend. I couldn't not write this.

“I don’t want to play.”

“It’s a tradition, Sherlock,” Irene said, glaring at him. “We always play at least once a party.”

“It doesn’t count as a party when it’s just the three of us.”

“Oh, come on, mate,” Greg laughed. “Open up a little.”

“Yeah, have a little fun with us,” prodded John.

Molly shrugged. “I think it’ll be fun with more people, Sherlock. You always play with me and Irene, and you haven’t complained about it before.”

“Ah, yes. What could be more fun than a game of ‘humiliating personal question or obscene sexual act’ with  _ more people _ ?”

“It’s just truth or dare,” John said, smiling at Sherlock, whose heart flipped.

Irene narrowed her eyes. “That was  _ one time _ , and we agreed never to speak of it again!”

Mike nearly choked on his drink. “What?!”

“Nothing!” Molly said. “Sherlock dared Irene to tell us about her first time, and it was a mistake we’ve learned never to make again.”

John and Greg laughed as Mike’s face turned red. Sherlock grimaced, knowing he’d have to play in order to avoid being harassed for the next month.

“Fine,” he said, scowling. “Explain our rules.”

Irene grinned. “Fun! So, we sit in a circle on the floor of the sitting room and play. Everyone knows the general rules. In order to avoid causing anyone  _ extreme _ embarrassment, everyone is allowed one switch after the question is asked. So, if Molly asks me to recount the tale of my first time having sex, I can switch to a dare without any repercussions. Some things need to stay private, you know? But, if Greg asks me again in two rounds, I have to tell the circle. Also, Sherlock’s not allowed to deduce any truths. Everyone understand the rules?”

There was a murmur of agreement as the six uni students sat in a circle in the middle of Irene's sitting room. Her parents lived close enough to school that she didn't have to worry about paying for someplace to live any closer to campus. It made for a nice, solitary place for the friends to gather. Sherlock sat next to Molly like always, and Irene sat next to her. Greg placed himself between her and Mike, and that left John sitting on Sherlock’s right. Well. That was just fine.

“All right, Captain Watson, since we're here to celebrate the rugby team’s victory last night, do you wanna do the honors of starting us off?”

John grinned, and Sherlock nearly melted.

“Yeah, I'd love to! Let's see… Greg! Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“All right... Say ‘in my pants’ after every sentence until your next turn. Or until I get annoyed.”

Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes already.

“What? Mate, that’s-”

“Ah!”

“This is ridiculous in my pants.”

John grinned. “I know it is. Your go.”

“Mike, truth or dare… in my pants?”

“I’m going to pick truth every time,” the boy said.

Greg nodded. “I figured in my pants. What would you do if you were a woman for a month in my pants?”

Mike frowned. “Probably just stay inside,” he said. He gestured to Molly and Irene. “I mean, don’t you two get a lot of shit just because you’re girls?”

Irene nodded as Molly said, “You wouldn’t believe the number of times Sherlock has to pretend to be my boyfriend to get guys off my back. We have a code and everything.”

“Sometimes we have to be girlfriends when it’s just us,” Irene said. “Luckily, I can play the possessive type, or Molly here would be snatched up by some creep right away.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t deal with that. I’d just stay inside.”

“We could have sleepovers,” Irene suggested.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock asked. “I’m at your sleepovers all the time.”

“Well, that’s different,” Molly said. “You’ve been my friend since I was eight. And Irene’s a lesbian.”

That sparked something in Irene. “If you were a woman for a month, would you be a lesbian because you’re attracted to women now, or would you be straight because you’re a heterolini now?”

“Hetero- what?” Greg asked, laughing. “In my pants.”

“That’s Irene’s term for heterosexuals,” Sherlock explained, rolling his eyes.

“I- I guess I’d be a lesbian,” Mike answered, his face red.

“Sweet,” Irene commented. “Okay, yeah, you can go now. Your turn.”

“Um… okay. John, truth or dare?” Mike asked.

“Truth.”

“Who do you fancy?”

John laughed. “Oh, come on. Nothing exciting? I’m using my free switch,” he said, shaking his head. “Give me a dare.”

Irene raised an eyebrow. “You sure, John?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine. Whatever you want, mate,” Mike agreed. “Write something on your body with permanent marker. Irene, you have a permanent marker, yeah?”

“‘Course I do,” she replied, already vacating the sitting room in order to find it.

“What do you want me to write? And where?”

“Uh, somewhere you can cover it up,” Mike said. “And… your first girlfriend’s name.”

“What? Why?” John questioned, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Why not?”

“I… I guess. There doesn’t seem to be much logic behind this, but whatever. A dare’s a dare, I guess.”

John pulled up his shirt to reveal his stomach. Irene walked in the room, whistled, and threw the marker to him. The blond wrote a shaky S upside down before Mike stopped him.

“Hold on!” he said. “I’ve got a better idea. Write the name of the person you fancy.”

“Michael Stamford, you know I haven’t told anyone else.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, see, the thing is that I’d prefer to keep it that way,” John replied, glaring at the other boy. 

Mike just laughed. “All right, then. They don’t have to see it. Go write on yourself in the kitchen.”

John glowered but left the room anyway.

“Why doesn’t he want us to know about the girl he likes?” Molly asked.

“He doesn’t want you four to harass him about it,” Mike replied. “Particularly Irene and Greg.”

The two in question mocked their surprise.

“I would never dream of it!” Irene exclaimed.

Greg brought his hand to his chest. “I can’t believe he thinks so little of us! In my pants.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John came back in the room, his shirt fixed and his face red.

“You’re a cock,” he told Mike, sitting down and handing the marker to Irene.

Mike just laughed. “It’s your turn, though.”

John nodded. “Molly, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“She’s going to pick that every time,” Irene said, rolling her eyes.

“Most of the time,” Sherlock corrected, shrugging.

“Truth!” Molly said again.

John laughed. “Molly, what’s the meanest you’ve ever been to a friend?”

“Molly Hooper doesn’t have a mean bone in her body,” Mike laughed.

“Well, once I yelled at Sherlock for dropping me during ballet practice when I was seventeen.”

“I was  _ fifteen _ ,” Sherlock argued. “I was not nearly as strong as I am now. That was in no way my fault.”

“Yeah, I know,” Molly replied. “That’s why I apologized afterwards. Irene, truth or dare?”

“Dare, obviously.”

“Eat a tablespoon of mayonnaise.”

“What? That’s disgusting!” Irene exclaimed.

“It’s your dare.”

Irene scowled and left the sitting room.

“Molly,” Greg said, shaking his head slowly, “that is sick. In my pants.”

“It’s fine. She’ll be fine.”

When Irene sat down, she bit her lip and stared at the mayonnaise jar. She took a deep breath before unscrewing it, spooning out a glob, and shoving it in her mouth. She swallowed quickly, her features twisted into a grimace.

“Oh, God. I’m going to vomit,” she complained, gagging. “Oh, for the love of everything holy. Molly, what the hell?”

The mousy girl shrugged. “Sorry.”

Irene sighed. “Whatever. John! Truth or dare?”

“Truth, obviously,” he said, mocking her earlier phrase.

Irene smirked, and Sherlock grimaced for John. There really  _ was _ no safe answer to that question when playing with Irene Adler, and, well, John was about to find out.

“Are you really straight?” she asked. “Like,  _ really _ , one hundred percent?”

Sherlock blushed heavily, hoping beyond hope that Irene wouldn’t turn this around on him. He didn’t particularly feel like being dragged from the closet that night. He noticed John glance at him out of the corner of the eye, and it only made Sherlock blush harder. Of  _ course _ he suspected.

“Is anyone  _ really _ one hundred percent straight?” John laughed awkwardly, staring at the wall above Irene’s shoulder. Sherlock nearly choked.

“Yes,” the circle replied. John’s jaw dropped open, and he shot an accusatory glare at Mike, who merely shrugged.

“I’m not into blokes, mate.”

John rolled his eyes and replied, “Fine. Then no, I’m not one hundred percent straight.” Sherlock’s heart leapt. “But I can’t be the only one…”

“You’re not the only queer,” Irene said, rolling her eyes. “There’s at least three of us if we include you. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“I… okay…”

Sherlock glared at Irene, but she only grinned, her red lips framing snow-white teeth. She clasped her crimson-painted fingers together, almost squealing in delight. “Perfect. All right, John. Go ahead.”

He nodded his thanks and took a deep breath, his shoulders rubbing Sherlock’s. 

“Okie dokie. Let’s see…” John’s eyes landed on Molly, who was sitting peacefully beside Sherlock. “Molly Hooper,” he sang, “truth or dare?”

“Truth,” she said softly, her eyes widening in what looked like fear. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John winked at her. John saw and raised his hands in surrender.

“What's the shortest relationship you've ever been in?”

Molly giggled. “That’d be Jim,” she said, and several people around the circle laughed. “We went on three dates in two weeks, and I ended it.”

“You made him watch Glee,” Sherlock commented, making the entire circle erupted into laughter. He looked around, surprised at the reaction. Greg and Mike clapped each other on their shoulders, Irene giggled along with Molly, and John stared at him in something akin to wonder. Sherlock swallowed and turned back to Molly, ignoring the twisty feeling in his stomach.

“Okay,” Molly said finally, glancing nervously around the small circle. “Mike, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“You’re all so boring!” Irene complained, rubbing her forehead. “What are you all  _ doing _ with your lives?”

“Do you fancy anyone in this room?” Molly asked. Sherlock almost gagged.

_ Stupid question, Molly. Predictable. _

“Oh, um, yeah. Yes.” Mike’s face turned red, and he stared at his hands. Oh, if only it wasn’t already painfully obvious. He was so intimidated by Irene that there really was no way he could fancy her. It wasn’t admiration in his eyes when her name was mentioned; it was trepidation. “Greg, truth or dare?”

“Gimme a truth, Mikey. In my pants.”

“Hey, you're done,” John interjected. “It's your choice again.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Thank God. Gimme a truth!”

“You sure, mate?” Mike asked, a malicious glint in his eye.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Greg replied easily. “What do I have to hide?”

“Do you or do you not,” Mike began dramatically, “have an absolutely massive crush on Mycroft Holmes?”

“ _ Michael Stamford! _ ”

Sherlock nearly vomited right then and there. Everyone else had the nerve to laugh, but Sherlock couldn’t help but feel disgusted.

“ _ What _ ?” he shrieked as the laughter continued. “My  _ brother _ ?! You fancy my  _ brother _ ?!”

“Okay, listen,” Greg said, holding his hands up, “it is  _ not _ a big deal, all right? He’s… I’m… It’s nothing!”

“It’s a bit far from nothing, mate,” Mike muttered. Sherlock was going to be sick.

“Greg Lestrade!” John cackled. “You told Mike! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, God. Oh, God, I can’t do this.”

“Greg and Mycroft, sittin’ in a tree,” Molly and Irene sang. “F-U-C-K-I-N-G.”

Greg ran his fingers through his hair. “For God’s sa-”

“ _ Don’t make me picture that! _ ” Sherlock yelled. “Stop! Stop it now! I’m going to vomit.”

“Sher-Sherlock, are you okay?” John asked, clapping him on the shoulder. Sherlock just shook his head.

“I’ll never be okay again,” he muttered defeatedly. The entire circle chuckled at his outburst. “Just… why? Why would you fancy him? He’s… He’s an insufferable git, and he hates everything interesting.”

“He’s not insufferable,” Greg argued petulantly, “and he’s plenty interesting himself, ta very much.”

“You and Mycroft bloody Holmes,” John mused, grinning. “I can picture it, you know. You make such a lovely couple.”

“Stop,” Sherlock pleaded.

“Really?” Greg asked incredulously. “I haven’t a chance, mate.”

“No,” Sherlock protested quietly. “No, he… he seems to like you more than the rest of my friends.”

“Wait, really?” Greg asked excitedly. “He does?”

Sherlock nodded sadly. “He does. I’ve seen it.”

Greg took a deep breath. “All right. Okay, then. Thanks for that. Uh, Irene, truth or dare?”

The girl pursed her lips and narrowed her black-lined eyes. “ _ Dare. _ ”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it. Irene, give me your phone.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. As much as he hated being blindsided by the idiots he called friends, he had to admit he was surprised when Greg demanded this. Sherlock had definitely not been aware that Greg knew about Irene’s unhealthy obsession with her phone. It was practically glued to her body; she was never without it for more than ten minutes at a time. This dare was meant to inflict maximum damage, and it was already working. Sherlock had no choice but to respect that.

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” Greg replied. He held his hand out, grinning when Irene dropped her phone into it.

“How long are you going to keep it?” Irene asked, her eyes narrowed.

“‘Til the end of the game,” the boy answered. 

“ _ Sherlock _ . Truth or dare?”

Sherlock knew the furious look on Irene’s face could mean nothing but trouble, so he chose what he thought was the safest option. With his luck and Irene’s mind, he’d end up giving John a lap dance or something equally as absurdly sexual, and that was definitely something that he could never take back.

“Truth.”

“Of  _ course _ you’d pick that,” Irene complained. There was a murmur of agreement around the circle, and Sherlock frowned.

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you,” he said, deadpan.

John chuckled next to him. “Wise man,” he muttered. Sherlock smirked at him but looked away, hoping Molly wouldn’t notice his reaction to such a simple compliment.

“ _ Fine _ . Sherlock, are you a virgin?”

“What kind of question is that?” the boy in question demanded. “Any idiot could see that I’m obviously a virgin.”

“Ob-Obviously?!” John stuttered.

“Yeah, mate, what do you mean, ‘obviously?’” asked Greg, his eyebrows furrowed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, feeling a slight blush creep onto his cheeks. “I am an eighteen-year-old social outcast who can tell a person’s life story by looking at their wrists and shoelaces. People find me generally unpleasant. It shouldn’t be a surprise that I haven’t had sex; no one wants to get close enough to talk to me, much less have intercourse. I fail to see how that  _ isn’t _ glaringly obvious. Molly, truth or dare?”

“Wait, Sherlock!” John cried. “We’re… we’re your friends.”

“Yes, you are,” Sherlock replied quietly. “I know that, at least. Molly?”

“I… I guess… dare.”

Sherlock smirked. “Switch clothes with Irene.”

“For how long?”

“Until the game is over.”

“You  _ arse _ ,” Irene seethed. “I like these clothes! I wore them because I look hot in them!”

“Well,” Sherlock replied, shrugging. “It’s a tradition, Irene. You have to respect tradition.” Sherlock’s eyes widened as Irene started tugging off her shoes and dress. “Go change somewhere else!”

“Why, Sherlock?” she asked innocently. “You not used to seeing women undress for you?”

“We have  _ just _ established that I’m a virgin, and you know  _ fairly well _ that I-” He was cut off by a small hand on his knee. Molly gave him a warning look, and Sherlock nodded minutely. “Right. Molly,” he said, “you can change in a bathroom if you like.”

“Yeah, I’ll- I’ll do that.”

The boys remained in their semicircle as the two girls flounced off to switch clothes. Sherlock swallowed nervously and drummed his fingers on his thigh. Not a single one of them said a word. Normally, Sherlock never had a problem with silences; in fact, he preferred them. However, it seemed that Greg was not of like mind. Sherlock wasn’t surprised.

“So, mate, about the virgin thing-”

“No.”

Greg furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“No, I’m not having this conversation with you,” Sherlock answered. “There’s no way in heaven or hell that I am  _ ever _ having this conversation with you.”

“It’s just that you’re a lot younger than all of us, mate, and we’re not judging you or-”

“As if your opinions would affect me. And it’s only two years at most.”

“He’s just trying to make it less awkward, Sherlock,” Mike said. “You know we’re not trying to embarrass you.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Sherlock insisted. “I am an eighteen-year-old attending school two years above my recommended grade level. Obviously, I’m going to have less experience socially and intimately than you all are. I make up for it by being leagues smarter.”

“Why haven’t you graduated yet, again?” Mike laughed.

“My mother refused to move me up more than two years,” Sherlock explained. “Would’ve made socialization difficult, she said. I could’ve graduated last year, but she hated the thought of her thirteen-year-old starting secondary school.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” John said. “Still, though, you’re shite at socializing.”

“I’ve been nothing less than pleasant this evening,” Sherlock protested. “I played this stupid game without answering anyone’s truths or deducing any dares. I even participated without insulting anyone.”

“Not counting us,” Mike put in.

“Sort of counting us,” Greg amended.

Sherlock shrugged. “I suppose.”

The girls came back out, Molly’s face as red as the heels she was teetering in. Irene’s green dress wasn’t too big or small on Molly’s frame, but it was the entirely wrong fit, and she looked so uncomfortable that Sherlock almost felt bad for making her change. Irene, on the other hand, looked absolutely furious. She wore Molly’s black spandex, yellow legwarmers, and oversized pink sweater, shuffling into the room in white Converse shoes.

“I hate this,” Molly said as Irene spat, “I despise you.”

“You look strange,” Mike commented. “Not like yourselves.”

“There’s a reason I always wear tights,” Molly muttered.

“Of course there is,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. “You’re in ballet with me. Tights and frilly skirts are basically your thing.”

“Shut up,” Irene yelled at him. “Look at me! Look at this sweater! I love you to death, Molly, but  _ why _ ? Why do you do this to yourself? You have a  _ body, _ Molly. Don’t cover it up with this  _ trash _ .”

“That,” Molly said tightly, “is my favorite sweater. I wear leotards and tights during ballet practice, which is almost three hours every day. Let me have my leg warmers and sweaters in peace, all right?”

Irene rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t you have brought a change of clothes like Sherlock did?”

“Sherlock didn’t want to wear his tights because he knew you’d give him shit for it,” Molly muttered.

“That’s not why I changed my trousers,” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes. “They’re not quite comfortable to have on all day, especially after practice. You know that.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s not because you don’t like wearing your spandex around other blokes, no.”

Greg, Mike, and John giggled as if on cue.

“Come on, mate,” Greg laughed. Sherlock glared at him.

“Molly Hooper, I know what you are implying, and I am perfectly secure in my masculinity,” replied Sherlock. “It’s just that it’s… well, it’s spandex, Molly. It hugs…  _ everywhere _ .”

“Perfectly secure in your masculinity, you say?”

“Yes. Perfectly.”

Molly smirked. “Fine, then. Sherlock, truth or dare?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Trying to get me back, then, are we? Fine. Truth.”

“Do you remember what happened when you were nine and found out-”

“ _ Dare _ !” Sherlock yelled, his face heating up. “Dare! I changed my mind.”

Molly looked to Irene. “Okay. Dare it is. Sherlock, I dare you to go put on your spandex and legwarmers. And then Irene’s going to do your makeup.”

“My makeup.”

“Oh, yeah,” Molly affirmed. “You’re perfectly secure in your masculinity, yeah? Wear some makeup. You can still be masculine and look like a model.”

Sherlock frowned. “No blush or foundation.”

“I’m not using my good stuff on you,” Irene laughed. “But yeah, I know what I’ll do. Come on, change into your Prince Charming tights.”

Sherlock sighed and got to his feet, cursing as he changed into his spandex in Irene’s room. He hated the spandex for only one reason: they made him look like a fool when he was doing anything other than dancing in them. He pulled on his yellow and black leg warmers, trying to hide at least some of his body.

It didn’t entirely work. His arse and…  _ well… _ were still overly defined. It wasn’t so bad onstage; there were other places for people to look. In small groups, however, Sherlock was just uncomfortable with it all.

Irene walked in, took one look at him in his bee leg warmers, and laughed. “You really shouldn’t be self-conscious about wearing that,” she said. “It makes your arse look amazing. I bet John won’t be able to resist.”

“Don’t,” Sherlock said quietly. “How much of a fool are you going to make me look?”

“I’ll make you look great, don’t worry.”

Irene grinned, grabbed her makeup kit, and dragged Sherlock out of her room by his shirt sleeve. Sherlock sat back in his place in the circle between John and Molly, and Irene sat in front of him. She dug through her kit for a moment before taking out a liquid eyeliner pen.

“Close your eyes,” she commanded. Sherlock listened and let his eyes fall shut, not wanting Irene to poke one of them out.

“Just the eyeliner, then?” he asked. “Tame, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” Irene replied. “You’ll look so retro.”

“You’re just putting your usual look on me, aren’t you?”

“Shh.”

A chorus of giggles sounded as Irene finished Sherlock’s eyeliner. He opened his eyes after the girl blew on them to dry the makeup. The first thing he saw was Irene’s manic smile.

“That looks great,” she said. “That’s better than when I do it on myself.” She took out a tube of mascara. “Come on. Look up. Stay still.”

Sherlock obeyed, staring at the ceiling as Irene applied the makeup.

“Oi, didn’t you tell me Sherlock was a girl’s name?” John asked, laughing.

Sherlock flung his hand out to hit him, but he jolted into the mascara brush instead, causing an uproar of laughter from the other boys in the circle.

“Sherlock!” Irene shrieked.

“ _ Son of a bi- _ ”

“Don’t touch it!” Molly yelled.

“Irene!”

“I told you to keep still!”

“Bloody hell,” Sherlock muttered, his eye watering. “How do you do this every day?”

“Carefully,” Irene snapped. “Now let me do the other eye.”

Sherlock sat on his hands in attempt to keep from fidgeting. “Be careful.”

“Be still.”

“Fine.”

“ _ Fine. _ ”

Sherlock was still for the remainder of his makeover. The only movement he was allowed was that of his eyes. As Irene started with the lipstick, he caught John staring at his lips. Sherlock furrowed his brow, and John’s blue eyes snapped to his. The blond blushed and ducked his head, leaving Sherlock to wonder what in the hell that was all about.

When Irene was finally done, she mimed how to rub her lips together to spread the lipstick evenly. Sherlock did as she asked, knowing that once he was done with his own makeover, he would be able to choose his own dare. He knew exactly who he was going to pick, and what he was going to make them do.

“You. Look. Great,” Irene gushed. “Oh my God. Okay, look. Listen to me. I know you’re a guy, and you probably have this weird masculinity complex where you can’t wear makeup or whatever, but you look really good right now.”

“I’m sure I’m positively dashing,” Sherlock drawled. “Why don’t you dress me in drag next time?”

“Can I?” Irene asked excitedly.

“I’d rather you not.” There was a flash as Sherlock spoke, and he whipped around to look at Molly. “Did you just take a picture?”

“You look really good,” she said, shrugging. “I wanted to document it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and licked his lips. Irene narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t do that so often,” she warned. “It’ll come off.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Sherlock muttered. He turned to the boys, who were busy trying not to chuckle. “Well, how do I look?”

“Beautiful, mate,” Greg giggled. “You look lovely.”

Mike was so red from laughing that he was nearing the shade of Sherlock’s lipstick. John, however, was red for an entirely different reason.

“Well, John? Am I a pretty lady?”

John laughed, grinning. “Yeah, definitely. Can’t say it’s much of an improvement, but… I’d say you look better than Irene.”

The girl in question shot John her best glare. “He doesn’t even look better than me on my worst days,” she growled. Both John and Sherlock laughed.

“Okay, my turn,” Sherlock said finally. “Greg! Truth or dare?”

“Now that it’s getting interesting, I’ll go with dare.”

“Perfect,” Sherlock purred. He took out his phone and held his hand out for Greg’s. When he was given the mobile, he created a new contact and entered in his brother’s information. He saved it and gave it back to Greg, grinning. “You’re going to call my brother and ask him for coffee without mentioning that I dared you to do it.”

Greg paled. “Wh-What? I can’t-”

“Yes you can. You have to. I dared you.”

The other boy took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do this. I can totally… do this. What do I say?”

Sherlock shrugged. “How should I know? I’ve never done this before.”

“You’re absolutely no help,” Greg complained. “All right, you lot, quiet down.”

He called the number and waited for Mycroft to pick up, fidgeting in his seat. Everyone was completely silent, all wanting to see how it played out.

“Put it on speaker,” Sherlock insisted at the last minute.

“No,” Greg refused easily. “He doesn’t know that.”

“He knows everything.”

“Okay, but I’m not-”

_ “...Gregory?” _

“Heeeyyy, Mycroft. How’d you know it was me?”

_ “Sherlock routinely threatens to give you my mobile number. I assumed, given that he is in your company, something of the nature finally transpired. Do tell him I said hello.” _

“He says hi,” Greg repeated unnecessarily.

“Piss off!” Sherlock yelled.

_ “Always so eloquent.” _

Greg laughed and bit his lower lip. “So, listen, um. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee. Sometime. With me.”

_ “Sherlock put you up to this.” _

“I wouldn’t have called if I wasn’t genuinely interested in you. I’d- I mean, if you’d rather not, it’s fine. I understand that. Of course I do. But I’m honestly asking you out for coffee because I like you.”

_ “I don’t drink coffee.” _

Greg’s face fell. “Oh. All right. Uh, sorry for bothering you, then. I’ll just-”

_ “Wait! I- I actually don’t drink coffee. I’d like to…go out. With you. Dinner?” _

“That sounds great, yeah!” Greg exclaimed. Sherlock gagged, and Greg shot him a death glare. “Um, can I call or text you later to-”

“You have to do it now,” Sherlock insisted.

Greg rubbed his eyes.

_ “Tell my brother that deciding on a time and place was not included within the parameters of the dare.” _

“How did you-”

_ “How else would Sherlock convince you to call me?” _

“Brilliant. Um, yeah. Okay. So I’ll call you tomorrow, then?”

_ “I’m looking forward to it.” _

“Right, yeah. Me too. Uh, bye, then, I suppose.”

_ “Goodbye, Gregory. Make sure Sherlock doesn’t get into too much trouble, would you?” _

Greg hung up the phone and laughed nervously. John clapped, which prompted the whole circle to join in. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

“Good luck,  _ Gregory _ ,” Sherlock spat sarcastically. “Perhaps one day I’ll be calling you ‘brother.’”

“Oi, you’d be lucky!” Greg shouted, grinning.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. 

“Just use protection,” Irene interjected, smirking.

Greg’s face turned bright red. “I’m- I’m not- On the first date!” he stammered. “I- Okay. We’re not- No. All right. Okay, Mike. Truth or dare?”

The other boy laughed at Greg’s awkwardness. “Truth.”

“All right, mate. Have you ever been cheated on or cheated yourself?”

“Yup,” he answered. He blushed, apparently figuring out how that sounded. “I mean, Mary. Mary cheated on me. With John, actually. S’how we met. No hard feelings, of course.”

“Yeah, she was a right bitch,” John said. “I had no clue. If I had, I’d’ve never… I mean, we just went out for drinks, and all of a sudden she goes, ‘Shite, that’s my boyfriend.’ Wouldn’t you know, there’s Mike by the bar, looking as crestfallen as ever. God, I felt like a massive cock.”

“It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, mate. No hard feelings. At least you didn’t try to fight me for her like the other ones.” Mike laughed. “Me! In a fight!”

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Molly said. “Who- who was it?”

“Mary Morstan,” the boy said. “She’s in our year. Wants to be a nurse.”

“Mary Morstan?” Irene asked. When Mike nodded she continued, “When was this relationship?”

“What, three years ago?” he asked John.

The blond boy shook his head. “Two and a half.”

“Yeah, that,” Mike affirmed, nodding.

Irene bit her lip. “There’s a funny story there. I, uh, might’ve slept with her a few times around two and a half years ago…”

“The blonde!” Sherlock exclaimed. “I thought I’d deleted her. Oh, how she hated me. I’m sure I deduced the boyfriend in front of you, Irene. I suppose that would have been Mike.”

“Yeah, you did, after the third consecutive night of - admittedly great - sex!”

“Well, it’s the first time I’d met her,” Sherlock replied, glaring. “Bring me all your girlfriends to deduce before you sleep with them.”

Irene giggled. “She despised you before you even mentioned the boyfriend.”

Sherlock smiled at the memory. “Yes, she did. You’re completely correct, John. She was a right bitch.”

The blond laughed. “Definitely. All right, Mikey, your turn.”

“All right, then. John, truth or dare?”

John seemed to consider for a moment before choosing. “Dare.”

“Irene, can I raid your fridge?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Yeah, fine, whatever. Bring me back a Pepsi.”

“Sure thing.”

There was a comfortable silence as Mike rummaged around in the kitchen. There was the telltale clinking and clacking of glass being moved around, and the circle almost collectively rolled their eyes.

“Oh, and Lestrade,” Sherlock said, smirking, “Irene’s right. Be sure to use protection.”

The older boy nearly choked. “I’m not going to shag your brother!”

“Yet,” Sherlock said. “Oh, and he thinks you’re ‘cute’ when you’re nervous. So don’t worry too much about making a fool of yourself.”

“I… okay. Thanks, Sherlock.”

“You’ll be fine. I can hear you worrying from here. Stop it.”

Mike walked back into the sitting room with an empty jar of pickles and a can of Pepsi. He handed the jar to John, grinning.

“Drink that.”

“What?” John laughed. “How much?”

“Five or six gulps.”

“Sounds about right. Sure thing, mate,” John said, grinning. “Joke’s on you, though. I happen to  _ love _ pickles. They’re my favorite snack, but only the long ones. Can’t be soft, either. They gotta be firm. And, I mean, the only way you can properly eat ‘em is whole.”

“You’re disgusting,” Greg cackled. “You’re a twisted man.”

John grinned before downing half the jar of juice. Sherlock grimaced. Molly nearly threw up.

“You… are… repulsive,” Sherlock said decidedly. “Absolutely disgusting.”

John just grinned, smacking his lips. “All right, then. Sherlock, truth or dare?”

Sherlock bit his lip, ignoring Irene’s glare.

“Truth.”

“Okay. You said no one’s really been interested in you, which, by the way, I think has to be false.  _ At least _ one person has to have been into you at some point,” John said. “That’s beside the point. Surely you’ve fancied people before.”

“What’s the question?” Sherlock asked suspiciously. John was getting too close to things Sherlock didn’t really want to give up. It wasn’t as if he could lie, either. Irene and Molly knew how he felt. The blokes were the only ones who didn’t. Hopefully.

“Have you fancied anyone, and, if so, how many people?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. “Two.”

“Must’ve been smart girls, then, to get you interested,” John said bitterly.

“I- Um, I don’t-”

Irene laughed. “Oh, please. Sherlock’s afraid of vaginas.”

“Well, that’s a stunning way to come out if I’ve ever heard one,” Sherlock muttered. “And there you have it, gentlemen. You are in the presence of a raging homosexual.”

“Two!” Irene put in. “Count me as a raging homosexual too.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Yes, two raging homosexuals.”

“Oh, are we using adjectives now?” Greg asked excitedly. “I’d say I’m a zesty bisexual. Or maybe… maybe amiable. Either way.”

Mike shook his head. “Spicy.”

“ _ That’s it, mate _ !” cried Greg. “That’s beautiful! Oh, Mike, I love you.”

“Always happy to help,” laughed Mike.

“I prefer amiable,” John said. “I don’t think I feel that zesty.  _ Definitely _ not spicy.”

Molly giggled but elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. 

“You can’t count Victor,” she said as everyone else laughed.

Sherlock felt his face darken. “If I say there’s only one, he’s going to ask who it is, and I can’t-” Sherlock lowered his voice even more. “I can’t very well tell him that it’s  _ him, _ Molly.”

“Victor did not love you.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Sherlock growled. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“The three of us agreed to delete him.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as his voice rose slightly. “Then why’d you bring it up?”

“Sherlock, I know you were in love with him, but he-”

“No, stop. Stop it. I don’t want to talk about it. You’re right. We deleted it.”

“Look, I know you were talking about Victor-”

As Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, he was cut of by John’s question.

“Victor who?”

The circle fell silent. Irene and Molly were grave, both of them scowling. Sherlock just shook his head, deciding to let his best friends do the talking.

“Victor Trevor,” seethed Irene, “is  _ the most _ foul, unpleasant, rude, arrogant, callous, vulgar, and all-around terrible human being on this Earth, and if any of you have the misfortune of meeting him in person, please punch him squarely in the face and tell him Irene Adler hopes he’s doing  _ fan-fucking-tastic _ in his career as the worst fucking human on this planet.”

John shook his head, obviously puzzled. “I… I don’t-” He turned to Sherlock, anger simmering under the surface of his calmness. “What’d he do? Did he hurt you? Swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him.”

Sherlock stared at his hands, remaining silent.

“John,” Molly said quietly, “Victor Trevor’s a right bastard.”

And there it was. 

“Oh,” Greg murmured.

John rubbed his eyes. “What- What a dick. What an utter cock.”

“How many?” Mike asked. He blushed, stammering, “You don’t- You don’t have to answer. I was just… I know how it feels.”

“Five or six,” Sherlock said quietly. “I wouldn’t, so he… found others. S’how I was able to deduce Mary.”

John nearly gasped. “Because you wouldn’t- Oh, God.”

Sherlock couldn’t take the pity anymore, so he said, “Irene, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” she said softly.

“Wait, we can’t just…” John protested, trailing off. “I mean…”

Irene glowered at the blond. “John, we’re done.”

“You’re just gonna let-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sherlock said sternly. “We handled it when it happened. We don’t need to revisit the incident.”

John nodded. “Sorry, yeah. Yeah. Go ahead.”

“What’s your biggest regret?” Sherlock asked, momentarily unable to think of anything intelligent.

“In life?” Irene clarified.

“Yes.”

“All right. Well, I think it would be the time I called you a freak,” she said. “That was when we first met, after I pretended to fancy you so you’d get off my case about the pictures I’d already deleted.”

Sherlock nodded. He remembered.

“Do you want to tell the people?” he questioned, smirking a bit. “Only if you’d like to.”

Irene shrugged. “We made you talk about it.”

“You didn’t  _ make _ me do anything.”

“Okay, fine,” Irene said. She cleared her throat before beginning. “Well, an ex-girlfriend of mine wasn’t out of the closet yet. That’s why we broke up. I wanted to be public about it, and she didn’t. She, um, she paid Sherlock to find me and convince me to delete the pictures I’d taken of us. There was only one I wanted to keep.” Irene swallowed and blinked a few times. “You know, just to remember. We were at a rugby game. Her brother was playing that day. She… she forgot, for a minute, that we were supposed to be friends, not girlfriends. She… she just kissed me out of the blue, and I… I was taking a picture with her at the time. It was just that one. That’s the only one I kept. I was so upset about the whole thing that I lashed out at Sherlock when he didn’t respond to my advances. Usually I can get whatever I want that way, you know? So, yeah. That’s my biggest regret, Sherlock.”

He nodded, smiling at Irene. “Sorry for calling you a whore.”

“Eh.” Irene shrugged. “I got you back for it.”

Sherlock chuckled. “All right, Irene. Your turn.”

The girl practically beamed. “Mike, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“You  _ always _ pick truth.”

Mike shrugged. “I’m an open book, Irene. Less chance of embarrassment.”

“I respect that,” Irene said. “Where’s the strangest place you’ve ever taken a piss?”

John, Greg, and Mike all gave startled laughs. Sherlock snickered into his hand as Molly grimaced. Irene’s face was smug as she waited patiently for an answer.

“I… The strangest place I’ve taken a piss…” Mike wondered aloud. “I’d say that would be off the side of my uncle’s boat. There wasn’t a loo on board, so.”

The circle laughed again.

“Gross,” Molly muttered, wrinkling her nose.

“Okay, then. Miss Molly, truth or dare?” said Mike, smiling.

“Truth,” she said.

“I’ve said this before, but you guys are so boring,” Irene complained. “You play it so safe. Live a little!”

Molly smiled and shook her head. “Truth.”

“Have you ever fancied someone and told them only to find out they don’t feel the same way?”

Sherlock actually laughed at that one.

“Yeah,” Molly said. “It was Sherlock. That was before I knew he was gay. I should’ve known, though. The way he stared at the rugby team…” Molly sighed as Sherlock gasped.

“I never-!”

“Sherlock, honey,” Irene said sweetly, “don’t lie to yourself.”

The circle broke into laughter as he grumbled in agreement. 

Molly grinned. “Irene, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Irene answered confidently.

“Try to sell a piece of trash to a person in the circle.”

“Do I need it with me? Can I use whatever tactics I want?”

Molly shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Do whatever you want. Just convince someone to buy it. I guess.”

Irene smiled and stood. She stared at Sherlock for a moment, seemingly warring with herself over how to embarrass him. After a moment of deliberation, Irene pointed at John dramatically.

“You!” she cried. “You, sir, look like you’re missing something. Something amazing, something brilliant, something  _ exciting _ !”

John laughed, leaning back on his hands. “And what would this brilliant item be?”

Irene grinned ferally and pulled Sherlock to his feet.

“Look at this absolute trash!” she exclaimed. “He may not look like much, but he’s got more brains than a neurologist’s laboratory. He can tell your whole life story just by looking at you! He’s at the top of his class in a grade two years above the average level, and he’s estimated to graduate from uni before all five of us. How brilliant is that?”

“Quite brilliant indeed,” John agreed, beaming up at Sherlock. “Not sure if I’m entirely convinced, though.”

Sherlock scoffed. “That was incredibly rude, and frankly, I’m offended.”

John just laughed as Irene continued, “Worried he’ll rot away into nothing? Don’t fret, good sir. He knows how to keep in shape. He’s also one of the top ballerinos at Mrs. Hudson’s studio in downtown London. This piece of trash has starred in not one, not two, but  _ four _ of Mrs. Hudson’s ballet productions, each time as Prince Charming. You could buy actual Prince Charming! Not to mention his looks. Talk about  _ swoon _ , am I right?”

“Irene, stop,” Sherlock muttered, his face turning red as the rest of the circle giggled. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Listen to that lovely voice,” Irene practically purred. “And look at that lovely face. These cheekbones!” Irene poked Sherlock’s face, and he batted his hand away. “Feisty, though. Might be a problem, but I think you can handle it.”

“Irene, that’s enough,” Molly giggled. “It’s just getting awkward.”

“I haven’t even talked about his body!”

“You really don’t have to,” Sherlock insisted.

“I’m going to.”

Sherlock sighed as Irene just kept going. “Years of ballet have done so much for his legs. He’s got nice legs under those bee-stripe warmers. And, good sir, I don’t know if you can tell from what he’s wearing, but-” Irene put her hand to her mouth and continued in an extremely obvious fake-whisper. “-he’s quite well endowed.”

“ _ Irene _ !” Sherlock cried, ripping himself away from her. He glared at her weakly, his face on fire. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Sherlock.”

He merely hummed in acknowledgement.

“Did I convince you, though?”

John giggled. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d say so. Your turn, yeah?”

“Yep! Let me think.”

As Irene chatted quietly with Greg and Molly, John turned to Sherlock.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to let it get that far.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, waving a hand in dismissal. “I figure it can’t get any worse now.”

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” John warned. “They’ll hear you and think of something to ruin your life.”

“John!” Irene called, pulling the two of them out of their conversation. “Truth or dare?”

The look on Irene’s face told Sherlock that this was going to be bad, whatever John chose. John seemed to realize the same thing. But, much to Sherlock’s dismay and because he was John never-declines-a-dare Watson, the blond chose the greater of two evils.

“Dare,” he said, and Sherlock wanted to vomit for possibly the fourth time that night.

“I dare you to make out with one of the people next to you,” Irene said happily, “for two straight minutes.”

John’s face went completely pale. “Wh-what?”

“Isn’t that a bit long?” Sherlock squeaked.

Irene shook her head. “No, not really. It’s only two minutes.”

John sighed and scrubbed his face. “Okay. Okay, um.”

“Mate,” Mike whispered, grimacing awkwardly. “Mate, um, I’m not gonna kiss you.”

“Fuck, yeah, I know, Mike.”

Sherlock fidgeted where he sat. “So, um. It has to be me, then. Unless you just- just want to go with truth.”

John sighed. “No, I used my free switch already. Damn. I’m- I’m really sorry.”

“It’s… It’s fine. I understand.”

Sherlock turned towards John, his heart pounding in his chest. The blond licked his lips nervously and let his eyes rest on Sherlock’s.

“Can I take off the-”

“No!” Irene cried. “That’s one of the rules. Two minutes, and neither of you can wipe off the makeup.”

“Oh, come on,” John complained. “My mouth is going to be all red afterwards.”

“You’re the one messing up Sherlock’s makeup.”

“Which is not my fault,” John reminded. He sighed and turned back to Sherlock. “So, um. Open or closed?”

_ What the hell does that mean? _

“Open.”

As Sherlock said it, John’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, really?”

_ Shit, that was the wrong thing to say. _

“Problem?”

“N-no, I just… No, it’s fine.”

Sherlock nodded. “Okay. I trust Greg has the timer?”

“He does,” replied Greg in the third person. Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes. “Okay. Aaaand… go.”

Sherlock gasped slightly as John leaned forward, resting his hand on the dancer’s spandex-clad thigh.

_ What the fuck? Is that his tongue?!  _ Sherlock thought frantically as he struggled to start reciprocating.  _ Oh, dear God, it’s his fucking tongue. And is that… Pickles? It is. Dear God, he tastes like fucking pickles. I  _ hate _ pickles. _

Even so, Sherlock’s eyes fell closed, and he lost himself in the sensation of John’s lips on his. He gave as good as John was giving, eliciting a small moan or whimper from the blond for every one he uttered himself. Sherlock nearly combusted as a hand slid its way into his curls, tugging slightly at the hair on the nape of his neck. The dancer gasped, which made it easier for John to lick the roof of Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock absolutely did not whine when this happened. Absolutely not.

The dancer had just grabbed John’s jumper in order to pull him closer when there were two hands on his hips dragging him forward. He went along with it immediately, and somehow he ended up in John’s lap, his knees on either side of John’s hips. One of John’s hands began to knead Sherlock’s waist, the other still tugging at his curly hair. Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair, enjoying the feel of it under his fingertips.

Things were quickly spiraling out of control.

Sherlock ripped his lips away from John’s and rested his forehead on the blond’s shoulder, breathing heavily.

“Time,” he croaked.

“Uh, nearly five minutes,” Greg replied.

Sherlock swallowed uneasily, wondering how he could gracefully disentangle himself from his friend without giving away his massive disappointment. It was only a dare, after all, and Sherlock had been foolish to let himself think, if only for a moment, that there was anything genuine about it. He had truly made a fool of himself now, and he was regretting it already.

John shifted underneath him, his hands disappearing from Sherlock’s hair and waist.

“Fucking hell. I- Sherlock, I’m sorry,” John whispered. “I just- I’ve wanted to do that for a while, and I didn’t want to stop. I’m…  _ Fuck _ , I’m sorry for making you do that.”

Sherlock straightened to look squarely at the blond. His hair was ruffled from Sherlock’s fingers, his jumper was off-kilter, and there was red lipstick all over his kiss-swollen lips. John’s pupils were dilated so much Sherlock could barely see the blue of his irises.

“You what?”

“I- I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” John repeated, ashamed. He looked down at himself, somehow keeping from touching Sherlock even as the other boy settled in his lap. “And it's your name on my stomach. I’m so sorry. I know you don’t- We’re friends, and-”

“You bloody idiot,” Sherlock laughed breathlessly.

John stiffened beneath him, and the dancer could feel him closing off.

_ Shitshitshit. _

“See, I knew you would say that,” said John miserably. “S’why I didn’t say anything.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s shoulders and kissed him again, keeping his tongue out of it this time. The blond grabbed Sherlock’s waist hesitantly, and the dancer nearly purred in response.

They both broke away grinning this time. John even giggled.

“No, I meant, ‘you bloody idiot, I feel the same way,’” Sherlock explained.

John practically beamed up at Sherlock before leaning in for another kiss.

“Oh, fuck no,” Sherlock refused, sliding off John’s lap. “I’m not kissing you again until you get the taste of bloody  _ pickles _ out of your mouth. Absolutely repulsive.”

John blushed heavily as the entire circle burst into laughter.

“Thanks a lot, Mike.”

Taking John’s hand in his own, Sherlock grinned. John disentangled their hands and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist, bringing them closer together. The dancer had to admit that he liked that much better. The remaining four members of the circle clapped and cheered, and Irene mentioned something about bridesmaids before Molly smacked her shoulder.

Sherlock looked around at them all grinning like fools, deciding that, yes, his friends were all idiots - every single one of them. He also decided that he loved all five of them just the same.


End file.
